


Right Now

by Jay_Wells



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10046126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: It hadn’t worked. No matter what he broke, Father stayed a ghost. He would not ring the bells littered across the island and bring himself back. Charoth hadn’t understood -- he was good and Father left, he was bad and he still wouldn’t return. He’d wanted to know how to make the old godslayer love him again, but when Charoth brought him treasures from passing merchant ships, he just shook his head.“My son, you must learn to leave me behind. It is time for you to fulfill your purpose. There is nothing left for me to do.” Father paused. “There are new adventurers on the island. I hope they can make you see reason. If they cannot -- ” his voice broke “ -- if they cannot, then nothing can be done for you. I hope it does not come to that, Charoth. I truly hope it does not. I love you.”And then they came.





	

Sometimes when Charoth was alone, he remembered the day he met Father. 

He’d just been reborn. Becoming a wisp was always a disorienting thing, because one minute you were powerful enough to alter the world with your very voice, and the next you were a helpless gathering of mist that didn’t know anything. Most times, all you had left of your past lives was a sense of dejá vu. 

The old godslayer -- the title was the clearest memory he had -- had approached him, panting, covered in blood and dirt, and snarled, “I ought to destroy you for what you’ve done. My country. My wife. My  _ son. _ ”

Charoth hadn’t remembered what his relation to this man was, but as the godslayer reached out, a crushing terror overcame him. He recoiled from the man’s burning hand, sensing that his existence was at stake. The godslayer hesitated, and the black fire died away. He stared for a long moment before falling to his knees and sobbing, his tears cutting streaks in the grime on his cheeks.

“My wife,” he whispered. “My poor, poor child. I thought I could save him.”

His grief was new to the infantile death god, and it stirred up a feeling of guilt in him. Blurry flashes of a pyre, of people chanting and of a struggling sacrifice lingered on the edges of his mind. Charoth thought that he must’ve been a god, once; perhaps that had something to do with the old godslayer. Perhaps Charoth had struck down his son.

When the godslayer finally rose and left, Charoth followed him and the godslayer accepted his presence without a word. Wherever they went, there was carnage. Dead bodies lined the streets, people mutilated beyond all recognition. Dying wails echoed through the streets, despite the rising sun. Everyone was dead, and yet, they stayed.

_ “You _ did this, spirit,” the old godslayer accused. “I should destroy you, like you destroyed everything I loved.”

Charoth drifted in the wind, trailing the man.

The godslayer led him to a cabin, far away from the rest of Grius. It was ransacked, with books and clothes and wood lying everywhere. There was a small whirring gadget on the floor. The godslayer picked it up and choked on a sob. The gadget was a tiny man wielding a miniature sword that he swung as the gears turned. It was curious, but not particularly interesting and not worth the energy to understand.

The godslayer knelt down above a trap door and became chalking in a spell, holding back tears. He kicked the wood over the runes and muttered curses to himself. 

“This was my workshop,” he told Charoth. “I used to spend hours down there. I thought, ‘when Kier gets older, we’ll have some good bonding down here,’ but he’s not going to get older, because of you.”

Charoth strained to hear his words and comprehend them, but they washed over him. Strong waves of protectiveness rolled off of the godslayer, memories clung to the walls of the house, and all of it overwhelmed him. A boy’s laughter. The smell of baking bread. Flashes of light red, bright yellow and blue. Warm embraces. Then a clear thought.

_ Father. _

In that moment, Charoth felt an overpowering affection for the godslayer, his Father, who would stay with him and protect him. It took months for Father to begin softening toward him, but he did soften.

“I ought to rid myself of you,” he’d said, after a month or so. Charoth couldn’t tell how much time had passed, just that it had indeed passed. “But … I can’t bring myself to.” Quieter, he added, “You remind me of him, so curious and eager to please. I wonder, what happened to the Charoth I knew? Is he gone, just like that? I’ll never understand your kind.”

He grew to love Father over the years. They played games together, even if Charoth wasn’t sure what the point of hiding and finding each other was. Father called it hide-and-seek. Charoth didn’t like the game; he always forgot they were playing a game and thought Father had left. One day, Father stayed hidden for a very long time, and Charoth was certain he was lost forever. As he contemplated the possibility, the little god felt loneliness. His misty figure began to take shape, and soon he found himself in the closest approximation to a child that he could imagine, because Fathers took care of children.

It didn’t work. Father remained nowhere to be found, and Charoth’s breath hitched. He hiccupped. His face grew warm and he nose stuffy and his eyes wet and he cried. Father had been in the closet all along and rushed out, wrapping his arms around Charoth’s new corporeal form. 

“I’m sorry, Charoth, I didn’t mean to scare you. Please, forgive me.” 

He nestled in close to Father and wrapped his skeletal arms around his neck.

“Do not fear, my son,” Father assured him “I will never leave your side. Here, take this as proof of my promise.”

He pressed the tiny man they’d found in the cabin years before into Charoth’s palm and closed his spindly fingers around it.

Never was a long time to play games with Father. Charoth accepted the apology and tucked it into his cloak.

* * *

 

When Father died, he’d sobbed as Father had years and years ago. He vaguely remembered his crimes by now and had mulled for days on Father’s words: “I should destroy you, like you destroyed everything I loved.”

Was that what Father had done? Was this punishment for a crime he didn’t remember? Why?

He’d felt an untameable rage at the thought. How dare Father leave him alone? Hadn’t he already punished him? Hadn’t Charoth proven he could be good? If Father thought he was bad, then Charoth would show everyone how bad he could be. There would be no peace on the Shrouded Islands until Father revoked his punishment and came back.

It hadn’t worked. No matter what he broke, Father stayed a ghost. He would not ring the bells littered across the island and bring himself back. Charoth hadn’t understood -- he was good and Father left, he was bad and he still wouldn’t return. He’d wanted to know how to make the old godslayer love him again, but when Charoth brought him treasures from  passing merchant ships, he just shook his head.

“My son, you must learn to leave me behind. It is time for you to fulfill your purpose. There is nothing left for me to do.” Father paused. “There are new adventurers on the island. I hope they can make you see reason. If they cannot -- ” his voice broke “ -- if they cannot, then nothing can be done for you. I hope it does not come to that, Charoth. I truly hope it does not. I love you.”

If he loved him, then he should ring the bells. They could play again.

And then they came.

* * *

 

He felt the Godslayer enter his mind and was so shocked that he could do nothing but hear his message.

_ Watch the stage. New show coming. Spectacular. Can’t miss. Once in a lifetime extravaganza. _

The Godslayer had brought another presence with him, a young … he could not place what she was. When her mind touched his, he got the briefest sense of her identify. The clearest word was  _ Guardian. _

He’d followed them to the stage, watched their show and heard the Guardian’s speech.

She’d stood, shaking on the stage before him. “Death is natural for us humans. We are fragile creatures, but we live to the fullest while we are here. To keep us here longer corrupts our purpose, it … betrays what we are. You have to let your father go; to keep him from moving on is selfish.”

In that moment, he’d felt lonely, and he remembered the day of hide-and-seek, when he’d thought Father had abandoned him. He felt small and helpless again.

The Guardian picked him up into her arms and stroked his hair. “It’s okay, we’ll be here for you.”

“We’ll all be your fathers,” the Godslayer added.

The Fighting Man had been upset. “Are you going to be there for it forever?”

“No,” the Guardian snapped. “But I’m going to be there for it right now.”

Right now sounded pretty good to Charoth.

* * *

 

The voices of the Nine Shrines Adventure Company blended with the sounds of the river and the forest around them. It was peaceful here, a holy place where people had once paid homage to the gods, and where people once had their last drink before passing on. The Nine Shrines had not needed a name once, because a name was meant to identify something you wanted to remember, and nobody needed to remember the bar. Regulars weren’t exactly a thing Charoth was familiar with.

He wondered if they knew how important this place was to the gods, and especially to him. The Guardian could sense it -- he saw it in the reverence with which she treated the forest, in the goosebumps she got as she walked along the river and in the respects she paid to the forest with gifts, crudely carved though they were. He thought the Godslayer might, too, feel the pull of the ancient power, because in the places very near the shrines, he almost never used his magic anymore and he whispered to his little red men not to defile the shrines.

The Guardian was standing behind him, explaining her power to her friends.

“This … this is huge, and I can’t really explain it, because I don’t … have the words in … whatever this is.” She turned to the Surly One for help. “Free, right Thog? Is that the language this is called?”

Surly One told her it was, but he seemed unhappy she didn’t know the word. Fighting Man assured her that they were there for her.

The Guardian continued, sounding anxious. “Yeah, but I’m not strictly human, and I’m not strictly spirit. I’m closer to a half-spirit? I don’t know how to explain it -- I don’t have any kind of foothold. It’s … really big.”

Charoth wished he could speak, because he knew how it felt to barely comprehend your own strength and power and unable to communicate what was happening. It was only more frightening for his vague memories of having once been worshipped as a god. Every time the Guardian left him with the Goddess, he had a horrible sickly feeling of deja vu. 

Godslayer and Fighting Man started to assure her that they would be there for her while she figured it out.

The Engineer laughed about something, and Charoth turned to look at him, and was dumbfounded. When he really looked at the Engineer, he looked like Father. Even stranger, he got pieces of memory. A boy with red hair, standing on a cliff by the ocean. Whirring mechanics. A high, clear laugh.

The Engineer was  _ him. _ Father’s real son.

All at once Charoth was paralyzed with jealousy, grief, shock and joy. The Engineer was alive, like Father had always wanted, after all the years they’d thought him dead. Father was still dead and didn’t know this, would never know this. The Engineer had a connection stronger to Father than Charoth did. He bet Father would have come back for him, if he’d known.

He hardly registered the Guardian lifting him up back onto her hip, Then he did and he realized something: the Guardian fulfilled the same role as Father. She played with him, loved him, made sure he was safe. She was there for him  _ right now _ . She told him she wouldn’t always be, but she’d try, and that meant she would be around for a good while yet. And no one else shared this. He and the Guardian could connect on a level that no one else could.

Was it selfish to keep Father to himself, too?

He tugged on the Guardian’s tunic, and she lowered him to the ground. Charoth patted her cheek and scampered off after the Engineer, who was surprised by Charoth’s tiny hand pulling on his pant leg.

“Hey, there, little buddy.” He knelt down and grinned, holding out a hand.

Charoth reached into his cloak and pulled out the tiny man and placing it softly into the Engineer’s hand.

His mouth opened and closed. “I … I remember this.”

He patted the Engineer and nodded.

“Thank you, Charoth,” the Engineer said slowly. “This was something my dad made for me. I thought I lost it.”

Charoth nodded again and scurried away. Giving away the tiny man was hard, and he needed a hug right now.

  
  



End file.
